


trust not in the darkness, trust in my outstretched hand

by victoriousscarf



Category: DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Christmas, Dick and Bruce have a terrible relationship, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-02-21 23:15:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13154070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: Dick Grayson sold spells.It wasn't nearly as glamorous as it sounded, but he found some measure of contentment in his little shop tucked away at the end of an alley, even if sometimes he remembered what his life was like before, when he had worked magic at the side of Bruce Wayne, who was always supremely confident in the worthiness of his causes.Now Dick just mostly pretended to be closed when Bruce tried to come around.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NitroJen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NitroJen/gifts).



> Okay so... I bit off way more than I could chew at one time with this plot for which I apologize. Your first prompt just made me sorta lose my mind, ahahaha, but since it will take longer to reach the actual payoff for that I tried to squish your third prompt into the first chapter to help make up for that.

Dick Grayson sold spells.

It wasn't nearly as glamorous as it sounded, but he found some measure of contentment in his little shop tucked away at the end of an alley, even if sometimes he remembered what his life was like _before_ , when he had worked magic at the side of Bruce Wayne, who was always supremely confident in the worthiness of his causes.

Now Dick just mostly pretended to be closed when Bruce tried to come around.

Which might have been unfair considering how often he found himself regretting letting anyone at all into the shop. Some days it was the customers who asked him if he had any love potions with a leer. Other days it was the customers who upon finding out his father has Romani heritage insisted that explained why he was so good at creating spells. Those customers were firmly escorted out and the door closed behind them.

Occasionally Slade Wilson wandered in, and leaned his hip against the counter. “You know, the good book claims we should not suffer a witch to live,” he said, casually and Dick sighed, stocking bottled spells behind the counter.

“If you believed that at all,” he said, slotting another bottle into place. “We would have had far more fights than we do. Besides, don't you have enough demons to worry about?”

“The annoying thing about demons does seem to be that they never run low,” Slade agreed. “How are Joey and Rose doing?”

“Good,” Dick said, finally turning back around from the shelf, leaning his elbows against the shop counter and actually looking at Slade. “Rose is starting to even make friends,” he added, and neither of them wanted to talk about why Slade was asking Dick for news of his own children. “Joey is thinking about going back to college.”

“Is there a degree for magics now?” Slade asked, arching his brows.

“He just wants to learn,” Dick said, and even though part of him wanted to run away, because Slade made a shiver go down his spine he still preferred the days Slade showed up to the ones were Bruce did.

Like this day.

Dick flipped the sign of the shop to closed in front of Bruce's face through the glass.

“Now you're just being childish,” Bruce said through the door and Dick shrugged, walking away but he stopped when Bruce actually slammed a hand against the door frame.

“If you damage my door—”

“I need your help,” Bruce said and Dick stopped before he turned and threw the door open.

“You don't need anyone's help,” he snapped. “Or at least not mind. You've made that clear over and over—”

“It's Tim,” Bruce said and Dick froze. “He's hurt.”

Dick narrowed his eyes at Bruce for a moment, even as guilt curled around his heart for not letting Bruce get that out when he first came. “Let me get some things,” he said, turning his back to Bruce.

The drive to the manor was stilted and Dick sat almost curled up against the door, Bruce glancing over every once and a while to show he was well aware of the distance between them. Sometimes Bruce cleared his throat like he wanted to say something but never did.

Which seemed a neat summary of their relationship.

“How bad is it?” Dick finally asked, which he should have from the beginning, not five miles outside of Gotham. “You came a long way to fetch me for healing.”

“You've always been better at healing than I have,” Bruce said, like it was easy for him to admit to a weakness, like it was easy to compliment Dick. But even in the light of passing streetlights, Dick could see his clenched jaw and knew neither was true.

He sighed, looking out the window again. “So it's bad.”

“Yes,” Bruce said.

“Do you know who attacked him?” Dick asked, because the list of Bruce's enemies was long.

“No,” Bruce said, his teeth gritted again and Dick felt his spine tensing, readying himself for what surely was about to be a fight.

-0-

Tim was bad, and it wasn't all physical damage. Someone had ripped into his mind, riffling around with care or compassion, and it didn't seem like they were looking for anything specific when they had done it.

Alfred had done his best to keep Tim stable, but Dick finally understood why Bruce had put the healing on hold to come and fetch him. There was no one else Bruce could trust to try and help piece Tim's mind back together. No one else who not only had the skills, but already knew all of Bruce's secrets.

Somehow that fact only made something angry seethe in Dick's chest all over again, even as he tried to focus on Tim and how much he needed him. That was more important than his petty hurts with Bruce anyway.

“Who would do something like this?” Dick asked, sometime in the early morning, when Tim had finally passed into a real sleep instead of a magically induced one.

“I don't know, but it was personal,” Bruce said. “To him, specifically.”

“You don't think it was someone just trying to get to you?” Dick asked, and they looked at each other over the expanse of the years, standing several feet apart in Bruce's foyer.

“No, do you?” Bruce asked.

“No,” Dick agreed with a sigh. “Whoever it was was mad at Tim himself. Almost like they were mad at his existence. I hadn't realized he had been with you long enough to make his own enemies.”

“We live trying lives,” Bruce said and Dick started to turn away, his bag already in his hands. “Dick,” Bruce said and Dick found himself stilling instead of just continuing for the door. “It's past four in the morning. Stay and rest. I'll take you home tomorrow.”

Dick twisted his mouth, but when he looked over his shoulder he found Alfred watching them quietly. He had tried never to interfere in Bruce or Dick's fights, but seeing him now made Dick sigh again. “Just for tonight,” he agreed finally and refused to look at Bruce, refusing to see his happiness even at that small concession. He already knew exactly what it would look like, with Bruce's expression almost blank, but his eyes burning brightly.

Instead Dick just walked away.

-0-

He knew the way to his old room, even if he hadn't actually stepped foot in it for almost seven years. Not since he was eighteen and walked out of the manor where he had grown up with only one bag.

It was spotless and he was too tired to be surprised, collapsing against the covers and rolling over until he was wrapped up in them, too exhausted to do much else.

When he woke up, it was with the awareness that he had not been asleep for long. The room was dark but someone was standing over him.

Dick had a spell conjured up in his hand before he fully opened his eyes.

Except opening his eyes didn't help much, as there was only darkness and a shadow above him, before a warm hand covered his mouth. “Don't,” a voice said, a voice that was shockingly, jarringly familiar. It was deeper, rougher, but it sounded like—

“Ja—”

“Go back to sleep,” the voice said and Dick knew what a spell felt like, even as he was shoved back into sleep.

-0-

When he woke up again there was light streaming from the windows.

He met Bruce down in his study, a large cup of coffee next to his elbow. “How's Tim?”

“He's already much better today,” Bruce said, looking up at him. “Do you want—”

“No,” Dick said, shaking his head. “Tell me more about Tim.”

“His mind will be a little fragile for a while, but what we did last night to piece it back together seems to be holding,” Bruce said. “Physically, it will also take time, but magic can heal many wounds.”

“Yes,” Dick agreed, disturbed. “Bruce, have you thought more about who might have done it?”

“No,” Bruce said.

“No strange visions in the night?” Dick asked and Bruce raised his brows at him.

“Like what?”

Dick looked away, remembering the hand over his mouth, the curl of a spell that felt as familiar as the voice. “Who could have gotten past all your wards?” he asked and Bruce's face paled, as if he hadn't quite processed _where_ Tim had been attacked yet. “Were they even disturbed?”

“I was so worried about Tim—”

“Bruce,” Dick said. “Did you ever revoke Jason's status in your wards?”

Bruce froze, his eyes ice. “Jason's dead,” he said.

“So that's a no,” Dick said.

“Jason's _dead_ ,” Bruce said. “There was never any point.”

“Magic can fix many broken things,” Dick said softly and they stared at each other. “Even if it's not usually the dead, you might want to check his grave.”

“You should,” Bruce started.

“No,” Dick said, abruptly, harshly. “I'm going home.”

“Just like that?” Bruce asked, and his hands were folded on the desk in front of him, his knuckles white.

“Even if I bothered to stay it would only be a day or two before you decided to reject my help anyway,” Dick said, suppressed rage in his voice. “I have a job to do now, and a different city where I live. A different life. You and Jason,” he felt his voice break and cleared his throat. “Well. You'll find out one way or another. If you need my help you know where I am.”

He turned for the door, glancing over his shoulder. “But I assume you won't need my help anyway.”

He closed the door before Bruce could say anything else.

-0-

For a while Dick left it there. He should have checked up on Tim himself before he left, but he didn't, and he rarely even glanced at the news from Gotham.

Eventually he admitted he didn't want to know.

Jason had almost been the wedge to drive Dick and Bruce apart, and his death had actually finished the job.

The idea he might be alive froze Dick's heart in his chest and knew himself well enough to know when he was running from something.

A month passed, almost two, before someone else knocked on his door.

“Tim,” he said, opening the door to find Tim on the other side, carrying a large bag covered in red and green leaves. “And Cassandra,” he added, spotting her hovering over Tim's shoulder a second later. “What are—”

“You ignored Alfred's calls,” Tim said, and he looked well, compared to how Dick had last seen him. Dick felt that usual curl of guilt he always felt when Tim sought him out after Dick had been avoiding him again. “It's Christmas Eve, Dick.”

“I know that,” Dick said, because he had kicked three people out of his store already that day. Somehow the annoying requests only became so much worse on important holidays.

“Well,” Tim said, lifting his bag. “Alfred sends his regards. And we both decided you shouldn't be alone tonight anyway.”

Dick's eyes flickered to Cassandra in some surprise, because despite the sometimes terrible way he acted around Tim at least he had tried to connect with Tim, despite the Bruce sized obstacle in their way. Cassandra he had only met a few times, and mostly knew of her through reputation. “That—”

“Dick,” Tim said, with seriousness in his eyes. “It's Christmas. Bruce doesn't even want to celebrate and he's not alone anyway. He's still got Alfred.”

Dick tried not to think about the first few years he spent in the manor, with Bruce and Alfred, so awkward but trying so hard to celebrate with him, a strange mixture of Yule and Christmas going by both names with its old cross pollination exposed.

“Yes, but,” Dick said.

“No one should be alone during the holidays,” Cassandra said, still behind Tim's shoulder and Dick considered her before finally nodding. He ushered them both inside the shop, locking the door and shutting off the lights before leading them up the stairs to his apartment.

“I don't have much,” he said. “I wasn't expecting—”

“Don't worry,” Cassandra said, the same basic monotone of voice she had used earlier. “We came prepared.”

“And by that Alfred prepared us,” Tim said, with an easy smile and Dick wondered if it was an act again, like Tim often used his smiles. But Tim hefted the bag up to the counter and Dick took over unpacking it, a full feast with several packages left over for breakfast the next morning.

“How are things in Gotham?” he asked, the question he had been ignoring.

“Bruce has been... tense,” Tim allowed after a moment.

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed, rubbing her wrist with one hand.

“Has there been any leads on your attacker?” Dick asked, voice carefully casual and they were all a mess, he realized, Tim with his false smiles and Cassandra with her dark eyes and flat voice and him with his denial and guilt. He almost laughed, but turned on his oven instead.

“Not really,” Tim said. “There's been a lot of shadows and a lot of confusion but not really a lot of answers. Bruce has a bee in his bonnet though, that it might have something to do with Jason Todd.”

A bee that Dick had planted there. But he sighed, and shoved that to the back of his mind, focusing instead on the food in front of him, and teasing Tim and learning more about Cassandra. He wondered if this would be what it was always like, if he had been able to stay in Gotham, to live with these people like the family he had once tried to build with Bruce.

But those thoughts were only depressing and he had to focus again on the off key singing Tim was engaged in, and Cassandra's almost smiles.

-0-

They left in the morning, to spend Christmas afternoon with Bruce and Alfred, and Dick couldn't begin to explain what it meant to him, that they had not left him alone that morning. He thought for a moment about trying to find Donna's number, or Roy's, before he went back down to the shop, mixing several batches of spells before a knock came on the door.

“It's obviously closed,” he muttered before he looked up and froze.

Jason Todd stood on the other side of the glass door, one hand braced on the frame as he looked at Dick.

Dick felt like he was in a dream as he drifted to the door, unlocking it before opening it. “Jason,” he said, voice flat from shock.

“Not going to invite me in?” Jason asked, mouth twisted into a wry smile and he was _older_ which didn't make sense, but still so obviously Jason Dick almost sank down to his knees.

“No,” Dick said.

“Smart,” Jason said. “You have no idea what I am, after all.”

“I know who you appear to be,” Dick said, frowning when he found Jason's eyes to be closer to green than blue. He reached out, about to touch before he stopped himself, hand hovering near Jason's face.

“Yeah,” Jason said, watching him and they were still standing as if a physical door separated them. “Consider this something of a Christmas miracle, huh?”

“You've been back longer than that,” Dick said and Jason's mouth curled again.

“Dick,” he said, and his expression fell, into something like devastation. “Dick, I need your help.”

And Dick, despite his better judgment, stepped back from the door to let him inside.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did 18 job applications today which is probably why Medda spent five minutes trying to help me figure out how to spell "innocuous" so shout out to her for her patience and help when language stops making sense.

Dick sat across from Jason in his apartment over the shop, cradling a cup of tea in his hands and watching Jason turn his own cup around.

“You're alive then,” Dick said.

“That's sure what it looks like,” Jason agreed and Dick raised his brows at him.

“You sound like you yourself doubt that.”

“It's crossed my mind that I'm not what I appear to be,” Jason said. “Why else do you think I'd be coming to you, asking for help.”

Dick felt his brows inch up even higher. “Why do you not think you are what you appear to be?” he asked, hands going white around the mug.

“Because I'm not fucking stupid, Dick,” Jason said and it felt so familiar it pulled at Dick's stomach, twisting painfully. “People don't just come back from the dead and if they do it's _wrong_. I don't even know if I am Jason Todd or some golem or construct or something.”

“But you have his memories?” Dick asked.

“Yeah, which secret do you want to know?” Jason asked wryly. “Which of Bruce's hidden stashes do you want me to reveal?”

“We can wait on that,” Dick decided after a moment and Jason twitched his brows at him. “You have his memories but aren't certain you're him?”

“Yeah,” Jason said, looking away. “I—forget things. I mean, since I came back, or what I assume was me coming back. I have these moments where I have flashes of what I've done but I can't figure out why I did them.”

“Is that why you've been hiding from us?” Dick asked.

“Maybe, partly,” Jason said, still not meeting his eyes.

Dick took a sip of his tea that had gone stone cold as he watched Jason. He ignored it, hands still white. “And why did you attack Tim?” he asked, forcing his voice to be neutral and Jason, damn him, laughed, shaking his head.

“Oh, yeah, you're smart. That's what I mean though,” and Jason finally met Dick's eyes. “I don't remember.” Dick slammed the cup down on the table in front of him, with more force than he intended. “I just know I did it.”

“You tore his fucking mind apart, Jason,” Dick said, anger curling in his gut. “You almost killed him and you don't know _why_?”

“I know he replaced me,” and Dick felt his face twitch because he had once hurled that accusation at Jason, some years ago. “I know I was angry. The actual—the actual attack? What I do when I get mad. That's what I don't remember. That's why I'm here, Dick. I need to know what I am and I need to know if I can control myself.”

Dick paused, watching him, because so far despite what they were talking about Jason was relaxed and loose across the table from him. It felt too normal, too easy. “You're worried you're not in control of yourself.”

“It's not so mad, Dick,” Jason said.

Dick looked away. “Do you know anything about _how_ you came back?” he asked, taking another sip of his cold tea.

“Pretty sure it had something to do with the Lazarus pit,” Jason said, mild and Dick set the mug down so hard it rattled his hand.

“The—the pit?” he asked, slotting what Jason had already said with the way Jason was watching him, and what had been done to Tim.

“You know why I can't do this on my own, Dick,” Jason said and Dick sucked in a deep breath and then another.

“Jason, I can barely cope with the idea that you're _alive_ and back and that you violently attacked Tim,” Dick said. “And now you want me to help you figure out if you're even _you_ , let alone what might be causing you to lose control of yourself?”

Jason's eyes were dark across the table. “I don't have anyone else to trust, Dick.”

Dick closed his eyes, breathing for several long moments before he finally opened them again. “We can't do this here,” he said. “There's a place up in the mountains. We can put up wards and safety measures.”

There was something vulnerable in Jason's eyes. “You're really going to help.”

“You came here doubting it?” Dick asked.

The corner of Jason's mouth tilted up but it didn't appear to be a happy smile. “I always doubt it. It's been a long few years,” and Dick's hands were going white again because it had been years that Jason hadn't revealed himself to them, years that he might have sought help and didn't. It only made Dick doubt himself more. “I don't trust most people.”

“Do you trust me enough to help you?” Dick asked. “This is going to be difficult already.”

“I sure wouldn't trust Bruce enough,” Jason said.

“I didn't ask that.”

For a long moment they watched each other from across Dick's small dining room table, Jason's expression closed off and Dick as blank as he could make himself. “You're asking a lot.”

“Not nearly as much as you're asking from me,” Dick said. “If I'm going to do this, if we're going to try and figure out what's wrong with you—you're going to have to trust me enough to actually do this.”

“Yeah, Dick,” Jason said after a moment. “I trust you. There's no one else I was willing to go to. It's always been you I'd trust to get me out of a situation.”

Dick stared, a flicker of unease crossing his face because he wasn't certain that described what he remembered of their relationship at all. “Alright,” he said instead. “Do you need a place to stay tonight? We can leave tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“I'm going to need at least some time to prepare,” Dick said.

Jason paused but he nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Yeah, if you got a couch or something—”

“I'll get the blankets,” Dick said, turning away.

-0-

He spent the rest of the night writing a letter to Bruce and drove to Gotham himself to hand it to Alfred. “This is only if I disappear,” he said, and Alfred cocked his head at him.

“Are you considering disappearing, Master Dick?”

“Actually, you probably aren't going to hear from me for a while,” Dick said and Alfred just raised his brow higher. “I'm trying to help someone. Someone who's—well—important to all of us, but I'm not willing to say more about it yet. But, well, it's also pretty stupid. That's explaining where I'm going and why in case things go wrong.”

“And how long exactly before things have officially gone wrong?” Alfred asked.

“That's on there too,” Dick said. “I'll have my phone, but it won't be easy to get to.”

“I assume you won't listen to us at all if we urge you to be careful?” Alfred asked, folding his arms over his slender chest and Dick gave him a brief smile.

“Please, I'm always careful,” he said and Alfred rolled his eyes upward, as if asking the heavens for patience. “But this means too much for me to be anything else. I hope—I hope things are what they appear, and I hope that I'm going to come back with good news.”

“I hope so too, Master Dick,” Alfred said softly. “Whatever you're up to.”

Dick nodded, almost making it away from the front door before Bruce noticed he had arrived at all.

“Dick,” and Dick froze, considering just walking away without turning.

“Bruce,” he greeted instead, turning around.

“What are you doing here?” Bruce asked, looking between Alfred and Dick.

“I just wanted to drop something off with Alfred,” Dick said. “You know Tim and Cass were over yesterday.” It wasn't quite a lie, because they had been over, and Dick had something to give to Alfred. It just wasn't something Tim and Cass had left behind.

But Bruce had kept walking closer. “I meant to—”

“What? Wish my happy holidays?” Dick asked. “I wouldn't have wanted to hear it. In fact I still don't.”

“Why do you insist on being so difficult?”

“Oh, I'm the difficult one here,” Dick said, and Bruce closed his eyes, like Dick exhausted him.

“You are at the moment,” Bruce rumbled. “I just wish you'd let me talk to you, about anything, even something as innocuous as the seasons—”

“We've done quite enough talking, Bruce,” Dick said, shaking his head and taking a step backwards. “And yelling and everything in between. You might just have to accept I don't want to talk to you about anything, not even the weather.”

“When are you going to stop punishing me?” Bruce asked and Dick froze, feeling like a deer in a bright light. “I know I've done much to upset you but you're still my—”

“You're what, Bruce?” Dick asked softly, and they were honestly having this conversation in the driveway, under the weak winter sun. “Your son? Your partner? Your friend? Even if I was those things, you made it very clear I wasn't anymore.”

“You _were_ my friend and partner,” Bruce said and Dick hung his head, the pain weighing him down for a moment.

“And then you kicked me out of your house and your life,” Dick said, raising his head again. “So you'll have to excuse me if I don't actually care _what_ you wish we were anymore. You're the one who broke whatever we were in the past.”

“And I can't make it up to you?”

“How would you even begin to go about that?” Dick asked, angry. “Would you try and woo your way back into my good graces?”

“I just—”

“Look, Bruce,” Dick said, knowing he was as much at fault for their rift as Bruce was anymore. He just didn't know how to look at Bruce without the stab of pain that made him so petty and difficult, even when Bruce was being sincere. “I have a really long day ahead of me. I just wanted,” and he glanced at where Alfred had beat a graceful retreat long ago. “To give Alfred something. But I don't have the time or the energy for this.”

He turned away and for a second he though that maybe that was it. Bruce wasn't insisting on his attention again and he almost made it all the way to his motorcycle before Bruce spoke again.

“Good luck, Dick,” Bruce said softly. “May the coming new year bring you peace and kindness.”

Dick tensed, hands on the bike, and by the time he looked up, Bruce had already turned away.

-0-

“That's a really shitty car, Dick,” Jason said, as Dick finished loading the last of the crates into the back.

“Well, that's what happens when I prefer my really nice bike,” he said with a shrug. “The cars mostly for delivery runs that don't fit on the bike.”

“Like me?”

“Like everything we're going to need for the next month,” Dick said.

Jason stared at him. “A month? You think—whatever this is is gonna take a whole month?”

“I'd rather be careful than not,” Dick said.

“Isn't that a lot of time away from your shop?” Jason asked, almost small.

“I've been gone longer,” Dick shrugged and they watched each other over the top of his car for a long moment. Finally Jason let out a huff of breath, folding himself into the front seat.

“Tell me your music taste has gotten better.”

“Nope,” Dick said, more brightly than he felt as he turned the car on and carefully pulled out of his tiny garage.

“Great,” Jason muttered and Dick's hands were tight on the steering wheel as he guided them out of the city and up toward the far off hills.

 


End file.
